He made a sound low in his throat and turned her to face him. His lips grazed across her cheek and then pressed down on her own. She sighed against his mouth, and he kissed her harder, invading her mouth with his tongue and pulling her body tight against his. Too slowly, she realized what was happening. She went stiff in his arms and tried to pull away. He sighed and let her go.

A long silence fell between them. He held her loosely in his arms, but she didn't dare to break his embrace completely. Though she wanted to open her eyes to look at him, she kept them shut—scared of the expression on his face.

​​

"Is there anything else you want to know?" she finally asked.

"Hmm?" he said.

"Don't you want to know if I was trying to elope with Marco or not?" she asked, slowly opening her eyes. "Don't you want to know how it all happened?"

His arms stiffened, but he was silent. She opened one eye a crack and found his face inches from hers. He stared at her in the dark with such intense concentration she felt herself blush.

"You weren't eloping with Marco," he finally said. "Not this time."

Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him in shock. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Few people seem to hold that same view."

His palms caressed the sides of her face, and he held her head in his hands. "I believe you," he whispered.

"Really?" she asked.

"I promise," he whispered, his voice thick.

She hesitated, bit her lip, and said, "You know, I was very woozy on the drugs Iris gave me. But I remember something strange from before."

His expression darkened, "What?"

"Well, a few weeks ago, when you first caught us, I got a weird call from Marco," she said. "He asked me to run away with him. But then at the airport, I found out his phone had been confiscated when your men took him. It's strange, isn't it?"

"Hmm," he said.

"And it gets stranger," she added. "Because you said something that made me think Levi knew about the call. And since Levi knew about the airport and even helped Iris—well—"

"Just say it," he growled.

"Were you behind the kidnapping, Sean?" she asked. "Was it another test? Please don't lie to me. If you do, I'll find out—just like I found out about the phone call."

"I was not," he said, and his voice was fierce.

"But you were behind the phone call, right?" she asked.

"Yes," he admitted.

"So why should I believe you this time?" she asked.

"You think I would have you drugged, kidnapped, injured and beaten?" he asked, sounding strangled.

"I don't know, Sean," she said. "I hardly know you at all."

"No," he said, pulling away from her. "I would never do that to you. I did plan to send Marco away, and it was meant to be kept a secret, but I had no idea Levi would betray me."

"You know, even if I knew, I wouldn't have tried to go with him," she said.

"I know," he said. "Go to sleep now."

His voice sounded distant and cold, but she was too tired to wonder why. She rolled over, closed her eyes, and let a heavy, dreamless sleep take her.

***

Catherine woke in the morning and found herself alone in bed. She stretched her arms above her head, wincing slightly. Her entire body felt sore and beaten, but worst of all was the pain in her chest. She replayed the conversation she'd had with Sean the night before, desperately analyzing his words and expressions for some remorse. Didn't he feel guilty for manipulating her? For forcing Marco to call her? For every other trick he'd played? She rubbed her eyes and sighed.

"It doesn't matter," she whispered to herself. "I knew all along who Sean Blair is, what kind of a man he is. This shouldn't come as a surprise."

Despite her words, she still felt a twisting pain in her chest. She climbed out of bed with a sigh, walking carefully to avoid putting too much weight on her sprained ankle. She hobbled to the bathroom and then paused to rest on the edge of the tub. Once she'd regained her strength, she began to wash her face in the sink, splashing warm water and applying the foaming soap with her good hand.

As she bent over the sink, two large hands grabbed her waist. She jerked upward and turned to see Sean.

"Why didn't you call me when you woke up?" he asked.

"Good morning to you too," she mumbled, feeling the soapy water drip down her face and splash her chest.

"You should be resting," he said. "You can't move around on your own yet."

"I'm fine," she said, feeling the pain in her chest turn to rage.

"You were in a car wreck," he growled.

"Just let me finish washing my face," she snapped. "If you want to be helpful, bring me some clothes to wear."

His eyes darkened, but then the look vanished, and he disappeared into the closet. She sighed with relief and finished washing her face. By the time she was toweling it dry, he had returned with a sundress and a matching lace bra and underwear. She took the clothing and waited for him to leave before clumsily taking off her pajamas and tugging on the dress. Along the side of the dress were dozens of small mother-of-pearl buttons. She fumbled with them, but her bandaged hand was too clumsy.

"Sean," she called.

He poked his head in the door, "What?"

"I need some help," she admitted.

He smirked and crossed the room. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he did the small buttons, barely brushing her side through the thin fabric. When he finished, he scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the room and down the stairs. As he walked, she made a point of looking away from him. The anger returned to her chest. Was he really going to treat her like this until her ankle healed? It was unbearable.